Recipe for Ruin
by Salome Sensei
Summary: Ono can manage Antique as well as Eiji and Chikage's emotions when Tachibana leaves a hurried note and vanishes for days. But when Tachibana returns, can Ono reach the lost boy within the troubled man? Yaoi. Adults only. ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I recently watched the anime of **Antique Bakery** and fell in love with the boys. I also screened the Korean live-action film and grew determined to write a post-anime story from Ono's POV, full of hurt/comfort and Ono/Tachibana…with a hint of Ono/Chikage because the big lug is just too sweet not to indulge. (I hated that the Korean film downplayed Ono/Chikage entirely and made Chikage such a dork.) Anyhow, below is the first chapter. Feedback is most welcome as I consider how long and how graphic to make this little yaoi adventure. Onegai shimasu!

Recipe for Ruin

Chapter 1

It was Chikage who found him.

I was sitting at the bar, watching ice melt and twist in my nearly empty glass, not unable but quite unwilling to turn on the charm. I pushed away others' disappointment, frustration, and concern with equal dispassion. Their questions and comments were flies buzzing against the louder roar of the club's music.

_What's he doing at the Lollipop alone? _

_Does he have an exclusive lover at last? _

_Is he sick?_

I slapped away at least three hands trying to feel my forehead to see if I was ill. And, of course, I was. In a way.

Tachibana had gone, having left only a short, overly cheerful note about visiting some patisserie on the far end of Tokyo that had modeled itself after Antique. Though it was not garnering the press or the success we were, he said he needed to know the competition, and left.

Was I suspicious? Of course. It was Tachibana being Tachibana: always worrying about others' feelings before his own. But he was a grown man, as was I. He was my boss, and my friend. We'd agreed on that, after all. No sex meant no break up. And we both wanted what we had. So, if Tachibana wanted privacy, whether to investigate business rivals or simply to drive off into the sunset for a few days, that was his right. And his loyal crew would simply carry on and keep Antique humming until he chose to return.

For the first two days, Eiji was overjoyed. Having just returned from a second trip to Paris, he was full of badly pronounced French, new recipe ideas, and giddiness at freedom from what he called the oppressively watchful eye of "Gramps." Chikage, by contrast, was characteristically nervous from the moment he found the note, though he managed to break only two china plates (one full of brioche) and a single teacup by the third day.

As closing time came and went the fourth night, however, Eiji had lost his playfulness and Chikage was downright morose as he swept the front walk listlessly. I began to wonder if we all had the same idea: to stay all night in hopes he'd return. "He'll be back when he's ready," I told them both firmly, laying a hand on Chikage's broad shoulder and trying to convince us all.

"I shouldn't have moved out," Chikage mumbled behind his glasses. I leaned up and wiped away his tears.

"Maybe you shouldn't have," Eiji grumbled, pushing past us to get onto his scooter and head off to who knew where.

I sighed. Tachibana had to work out his issues his own way. Since he'd saved that boy six months earlier and acknowledged that he wasn't going to look for his kidnapper any more, he'd changed. He spent more time alone, and the contrast between his cheerful, solicitous public self and his introverted private side grew increasingly distinct. As for me, I kept making pastry and unsweetened savories to tempt his flagging appetite, and hoped he'd come out of it when he was ready. As he'd said that day half a year ago, he wanted to keep Antique going as long as we could, even if nothing lasted forever.

Chikage sighed audibly beside me as I looked up into the moonless sky. "Don't worry now. 'Young master' is a big boy. He'll come home soon. And he knows where we are, waiting."

The big lug nodded, and I held him close for a moment in the glow of the store's little outdoor lamp. The nurturing papa was a strange role for the notorious gay Ono Yuusuke, but not an unwelcome one. In comforting Chikage, I comforted myself.

Once I'd sent the sweet sensitive giant off to his apartment and locked up, I headed straight for Lollipop. I needed the escape of the club's atmosphere and my unfaltering popularity to keep from getting as worked up as the others over Tachibana's prolonged absence. But it had failed to raise my spirits while the alcohol had just made me woozy.

I was rising amid protests that I stay for just one dance, one drink, one kiss when I saw Chikage come in the door. He was his usual self, rigid posture, formal suit, dark glasses, and somber expression. I ran to him, nearly tripping over my own feet, and grabbed his lapels to steady myself. "Chikage! Is it Tachibana? Is he all right?"

He gave a barely perceptible nod and urged me to follow him back to Antique. As I grabbed my jacket and he led me to his car, Chikage explained in hushed tones and with more words than I needed that he had closed up and gone home, put on his pajamas and made himself some tea, only to fear that he had perhaps forgotten to turn the lock properly. So he had redressed himself in a suit (complete with tie!) and returned, an hour later, to Antique. I drummed my fingers on the dashboard as Chikage explained in his overly detailed fashion. When he began to apologize for his ineptness at explanation, I sat on my hands and reassured him that he was doing just fine. Eventually, as we pulled up to Antique, entirely dark but for the car's headlights, he had at last gotten to the point: Tachibana was inside, locked in the bathroom beyond the kitchen, demanding that Chikage "get the hell out" and tell no one he was back.

The embarrassed flush of Chikage's face was bright enough to be seen even in the dark, and I touched his cheek and told him I would make everything all right. Somehow. He passed me the keys to the shop, and I admonished him to return home and get some sleep. I would call him in the morning, first thing, without fail, and there would be good news. He nodded, ever an obedient child of a man, and took my hand to kiss it. "Thank you, Ono-san," he said with more earnestness than any man should ever have. It was my turn to blush, and I fled the car before thoughts of Tachibana turned to devilish desires of seduction.


	2. Chapter 2

Recipe for Ruin

Chapter 2

There truly was no visible light inside Antique when seen from the car, the curb, even from inside the shop. It took passing into the kitchen to see the glow from the bathroom, the small "vanity" fixture I had talked Tachibana into letting me install so I could check my looks in a glow that approximated bar lighting before I headed out after work some nights. He had rolled his eyes, but let me have my way. That pretty well summed up our entire relationship. Well, all except for sexual intimacy, that is. For that, I got the eyeroll and nothing more.

As I walked through the kitchen, I nearly broke my neck, sliding on something gritty and gooey. I caught the prep table and kept myself from a total wipe-out, but banged my elbow with an audible clang that brought a groan from the bathroom. Damn it, I'd wanted to make this calm, quiet, whatever it needed to be to reassure Tachibana that all was safe. But then, what the hell was something gooey doing on my floor? My floor, that Eiji and I made perfectly clean, along with everything else in the kitchen (my kitchen) before we closed up.

I righted myself and considered flicking the switch to see what the hell I'd slipped on, but Tachibana was making some strange strangled whimpering sounds and I had to get to him first. A few careful steps more found me squishing something jelly-like that stuck to the sole of my new Berluti Rapiécés boots, and I swore under my breath. It smelled of raspberries. Was this mess here when Chikage had found Tachibana and he somehow decided in that sweet but small brain of his that it need not be mentioned? Or was it more recent, and equally inexplicable?

At last, I reached the bathroom safely in the sticky darkness and pressed my ear to the door. More hoarse whining, definitely Tachibana, and I fought the urge to kick the door down. Firstly, I'd no doubt injure myself and, more importantly, my boots further. Secondly, Chikage had spoken to him, less than an hour ago. And he'd been full-voiced enough then. "Tachibana-san," I said in a quiet, concerned voice, calm as I could make it. There was no answer, and the small sounds ceased. After a few moments, I added, "Tachibana-san, it's me." Brilliant, I know. But it was what came to me. Still no response.

I crouched and pressed my face to the door. "I won't come in if you don't want me to. But I'd like to. I'd like to know what's going on. Why you've been gone for days and when you come home you hide in our bathroom." Real sensitive. I sighed, listened. My heart began to race. Not a sound came from the other side of the door.

"Chikage was worried about you. So am I." And as I said it, my heart began to race. I really was worried. Maybe he'd poisoned himself. With leftover Montmartre? (For I definitely smelled that particular pastry on my boot, with its unmistakable light cheese mousse, raspberry, and whipped cream.) "Knock once if you're alive." What else could I do but joke?

There came a knock, and my heart soared. I pressed both hands to the door, grateful yet more desperate to get inside. "Tachibana-san, let me in, please?" Silence again. My head began to swim a little, no doubt finally feeling the effects of the cheap gin at Lollipop. I knew I drew men to me like a magnet, but it was seeming more and more like I drew drama, too. "Come on," I whined, unable to think of a single reason he should let me in but wondering what the hell he was getting out of letting me know he was alive and well in there but not coming out. I frowned, then knocked. "Excuse me, boss, but I really gotta piss." Maybe that would do it. And, of course, by saying it, I made it happen. I really did need to go.

A derisive release of breath came from the room, then a dragging kind of sound, cloth scooting across the floor. I panicked, leaning and calling out, "Tachibana!" Maybe he was injured, bleeding, able only to knock once and then pull himself toward the door before he—

The door opened, and I fell threw it, right into Tachibana's arms. Damned if he didn't catch me. I blinked up at him in the soft light, his face in shadow, looking ghostly, hair damp around his face. I gasped. "Tachibana," I moaned. I noticed what looked like chocolate in the corner of his mouth and reached a finger up to wipe it away. And he dropped me. Right onto the tile floor. My head bounced like a melon.

"What the hell, Ono!" he snapped, voice rough and hoarse.

"What the hell!" I yelled back.

"Get the fuck out of here!" he commanded, pointing.

I shook my throbbing head. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on!" Shouting like this was quickly making my whole skull ring.

Tachibana scooted back and away from me, turning his back. "Just go."

He sounded so pitiful. None of this made sense. I looked around the room. There were empty and half-empty plates from the shop along the wall, around the toilet. Partially eaten Madeleines, flaky crumbs of iced Mille-feuille, dollops of crème fraiche, and a trail of leftover Montmartre. I leapt up and turned on the light.

"Nooo!" Tachibana's voice was a ghost's haunting howl as he scrambled to rise. His face was ashen, even as he turned his eyes away and gave up on standing, curling into himself. There was what looked like pistachio custard in his hair. And the toilet was filled with the remains of what I could only conclude he'd attempted and failed to force down himself.

"Tachibana, why?" Always asking obvious questions. He dropped his head onto his knees and hugged himself tightly. It was only too clear what was happening here. He was trying to conquer his fears once again, demanding that his body stop returning to those weeks in his childhood that took away his love of sweets forever. But why here, now? What had he been doing those days away that led him back home only to hurt himself this way? I switched off the main light again and came to my knees. "Let me help."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Writing this is actually a moving experience. It's surprising me. Touching something deeper in me, I guess. And I wish there were more AB readers out there to let me know if it's working. Thanks to my friends and anyone else who finds it and reads it.

Recipe for Ruin

Chapter 3

The groan that came from Tachibana when I offered to help seemed to come from so deep within him that all I could think to do was move him quickly to the toilet again to throw up. Poor man, torturing himself so, replicating the abuse of his mind and body that had been done to him—in whatever fashion—when he was a child. He had turned that vileness upon me that day in middle school, and I had reeled from it, become nearly suicidal over it. But, as I had told him more than once, it had led to a stronger self, a determination to live fully for as long as life's ride held out. And now he had given me more: a home, here at Antique. This strange little space where life went on in all its glory and misery, but somehow provided safety from my self-destructive way of being. I did not find lovers here, yet I did find love. Strangely unironic. And, in truth, it was only a matter of time with me and Chikage. I think we both knew it, but I was doing my damnedest to hold out.

As for Tachibana, he had not gained what I had here at Antique. Success as a small business owner, respect for both shop and its baked goods, a dedicated staff, lots of lovely women to gawk at: none of it seemed to penetrate the thick wall of professionalism and loneliness around him. And now this. Whatever this was.

He pushed me away as I tried to guide him to the bowl. Apparently, that sound of misery was simply that, and not an urge to retch again. I shrugged, slid back a little and leaned against the far wall—which, given the size of the room, wasn't very far at all. My leather pants would need serious professional cleaning after this, but so be it. I wasn't leaving this little room until Tachibana came out with me.

"I feel like shit," he muttered.

"You look like it," I gladly answered.

He fell silent again, so I pressed the moment. "You insult my skills grievously, you know," I said with a little grin. "And our little Kanda made that pistachio custard in your hair."

He gave a little laugh-cough, which heartened me. "I don't mean to," he muttered. "Insult you, I mean."

I adjusted my glasses. "I know." I did. Early on, I might have taken his disdain for pastry as a personal slight, but not once he opened up about his past. And I had gotten him to eat a savory or two, so I knew it wasn't that his devil of a queer pâtissier had made them. We were friends, and any insults were superficial, mutual, and a way of expression emotional intimacy neither of us were easy with. Sadly, though, I was on my own when it came to fully recognizing and admitting such.

I opened my mouth to speak again, to ask where the hell he'd been the past four days, but perhaps he somehow recognized that was coming. He put up a finger to silence me. "I need a shower."

He rose, I rose, and he didn't fight me when I put my arm around him and we left the befouled bathroom and headed slowly, carefully, and silently through the dark kitchen, the dark shop, and out into the dark street.

Tachibana led the way to his place, if you can call it leading when he'd slung his arm around my shoulder while mine was around his waist, but whatever it was, it was lovely. My dizzy brain cleared in the cool night air, and his strides grew less shaky. He hesitated only at the door to his apartment, where he disentangled us gently and fitted key in lock. "I'm ok now," he said quietly, not turning to face me.

"Let me help," I said again, with equal softness.

He shrugged and opened the door for us. I followed him into the impeccably clean little apartment. I'd visited several times, and its cool, modern décor never ceased to strike me. My place was all bright colors and throw pillows. Tachibana's was all angles and shiny surfaces. "Gonna shower," he said over his shoulder. "Make some tea, will you?"

I was thrilled at being given something useful to do, something to help. I made my way to the kitchen, and paused with a frown to attend to the cake and cream remnants on my pants with a damp dishtowel. I'd left my boots in the hall, of course, and I sighed at their state. Well. They were just boots after all. The most expensive boots I'd ever seen and bought with money I'd saved up over six months of work, of course, but mere possessions, nonetheless. Tachibana was so much more.

I appraised the little shelf of tea available at Chez Tachibana and selected the genmaicha. I had no idea the boss liked it, too. That wonderful combination of roasted green tea and brown rice produced a unique flavor and scent that always made me feel calm and homey. "The people's tea," it was often called, for the history of the rice used as filler for those who could not afford enough tea to brew. Common and soothing. And it made perfect sense that Tachibana would like it, when I thought about it, for it was a tea one did not usually enjoy with sweets.

Preparing and contemplating tea did wonders for stopping my urge to join Tachibana in the bath, to watch him wash that lanky body, soap that thick hair, and perhaps finally get him to shave off that silly chin stubble. Instead, I was the busy friend, searching cupboards for teapot and cups, setting his immaculate dining table with placemats and napkins, then tea service. I sat and smelled the steeping brew, contented as I listened to the shower pour and pour. I lay my head down on my arms and rested.

I startled awake moments later as the lid rattled on the teapot as Tachibana set it down after pouring himself a cup. Was it even his first? I lifted my head and wiped the embarrassing drool from my mouth with a napkin. I smiled blearily as Tachibana poured me a cup. His hair was damp and shaggy, a towel lay around his shoulders and a robe covered him, open at the chest. Vague images of domestic bliss wafted through my bleary mind but were quickly shooed by the sad look on Tachibana's face.

I took my cup and sipped. It was warm and smooth and smoky. "Oh, that's good." I blew gently on it and felt the steam rise onto my face. "I've always preferred it to stronger blends," I mused. "I think my parents used to take it evenings after they'd put me and my sister to bed. When we were very young, of course. Later…things changed." I frowned and sipped. Why was I going on about me, when Tachibana was the one in need. Maybe we're all always in need. Just a matter of who's worse off at a given moment. I looked up. Tachibana's expression had changed.

He rubbed his chin. "I met someone," he said, firmly. "A woman."

I swallowed. Why did it feel like I was being broken up with? First of all, no one ever broke up with me; and second, we weren't dating. Surely he wasn't thinking about closing up the shop? He'd said he wanted it to last as long as it could—we both did. I bit my lip to let him go on, if he would.

"Owner of the competition." He chuckled but his eyes slid from mine, back down to his teacup.

I forced a laugh. "Big breasts, I suppose?"

"Oh yes," Tachibana replied, grinning but not looking up again.

I stayed silent, waiting for more, holding my cup with both hands, feeling a bit chilled. Tachibana kept his apartment on the cool side. It suited him. As, unfortunately, did silence.

He finished his tea, then poured himself another cup and topped mine off. The gesture warmed me even more than the tea. "Thank you," I said, as both appreciation and encouragement.

He looked up and gave a tiny shrug. "Her place, Boulangerie, isn't bad. A lot like ours. Too much, really. But she was so thrilled to meet me, the 'famous' owner of Antique, that I just kinda melted." He shook his head at himself.

I laughed more genuinely now. "Plus the…" I extended my hands to indicate large, heavy breasts.

"Yes, plus that." He scratched his chin again. "Pastry couldn't touch yours," he said, as if I'd asked.

The truth was, I hadn't even thought about that. Certainly wasn't worried. Among other things, I'd read the reviews. The décor and the service were praised far above the baked goods. But it was delightful to have Tachibana offer the gift of that comment. He cared about my feelings, even while he was obviously suffering inside. "Really?" I asked, smiling.

"Well, I didn't…" He stopped mid-sentence. Of course, he didn't try it. I knew. Despite the mess I witnessed in the bathroom at Antique, I knew that.

"Of course not. But you…talked to other patrons?"

He grinned and my heart skipped a beat. Oh, Tachibana. No matter what else came, he was still so very much my type. "You know me so well," he said, toasting me with his teacup.

"But the owner?" I said, getting him back on topic before I leapt across the table and took that mouth with my own and never gave it back.

"Shima-san. Yes. She was delightful. Beautiful. Smart. My female alter-ego, you might say."

I refrained from commenting on the bit of self-flattery and nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"She knew every detail of every facet of the shop, gave a professional yet seemingly intimate description of every pastry to every male customer and the women as well. I loved watching her work. And she loved being watched. It was a delightful dance. One day stretched into two, then three, and then…"

"And then?" I asked, truly engrossed.

"And then she invited me to her apartment that third night."

"And you went."

"And I went." He paused, sipped tea unenthusiastically. Sighed, dropped his head again. He was wondering whether to go on, it was clear, and I was wondering how this was going to end up connected to binging and purging pastry in the middle of the night.

Suddenly, I knew. Knew at least what had gone wrong. "You…you couldn't…perform, could you?" I said it with sympathy and understanding and not the least bit of the glee that was forming in my gut despite how absolutely horrible it was to be excited about the fact that Tachibana couldn't get it up with a beautiful, available, intelligent, compatible, and eager woman—one with big tits, too!

He shook his head. "Worse even. Not only could I not get it up, but it suddenly just felt wrong. I mean really, really wrong. I got the shakes. It was ridiculous. Like a little lost kid, far from home, wanting…" He stopped himself.

So, I thought, worse than just anxiety about intimacy with men. "I'm so sorry," I said, and I meant it. I didn't want Tachibana to be gay. I wanted him to be happy.

"I've never felt so useless," he said, tonelessly.

I couldn't stop myself from rising and moving around the table to wrap my arms around him. And damned if he didn't let me. "My poor Tachibana," I murmured.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: The necessary little tease chapter...

Recipe for Ruin

Chapter 4

He turned up his face then, looked at me in a way no words could do justice. Open, wounded, not hopeless but so very lost. "I don't want to be unlovable," he said, as if there was no question of the statement's veracity. Tachibana Keiichirō was certain he was what he most feared: loveless and doomed always to be so. He masked it with hyper-competence and outward focus on the feelings and needs of everyone but himself. That slick demeanor that made schoolgirls blush over descriptions of cake and grumpy deference to Chikage's need to serve, my need to seduce, Eiji's need to prove himself: Tachibana existed most as the mirror that reflected those around him back to themselves in ways they needed to see. But a man is not a mirror…or if he is, he must be a glass that shows him to himself as well.

All this struck a chord within me, to be sure, a resonance I drowned out with fucking, drinking, and baking the best damned French pastry the city had ever seen. I let lovers beat me. I let others love and lose me. If Tachibana was a mirror, I was a patch of oil, reflective in my own way but slippery and impossible to catch. And yet Tachibana had long ago caught me. Not the day he rejected me in school, but the day he hired me and then confessed he was the one who had rejected me when I hadn't recognized him.

"If you're unlovable," I said, stroking his still-damp hair back from his face, "then so am I."

"I'm tired," he said.

I knew he meant of more than a long day, a long week. More than finding his desire for another was merely an attempt to convince himself he could desire and be desired in return. Be normal. More than shoving cake into his mouth to fill the scream of a child abducted and held by someone who wanted to spread his sickness rather than cure it. I kissed his forehead, and he didn't flinch. It felt good. "To bed with you," I commanded softly, helping him stand and walking with him to his room.

He lay down obediently, keeping his robe on and after shedding the towel on a chair in his room. "May I stay?" I asked, feeling vulnerable, clingy, wanting to watch over him. I pointed to the chair before he could say no. "I'll just sit right here and—"

He pulled back the covers and patted the bed beside him. "I have nightmares," he said, as if it clarified everything.

For a moment, just one moment, I felt that sparkle inside myself, that nudge, a desire to strip and pose coyly and boldly declare myself his ruination. But Tachibana's declaration and manner defied me. Dared me to be anything but real. I chuckled inwardly: perhaps he really was just tired. I quickly stripped down to undershirt and boxers, and climbed in. No show, no fuss. Then I lay, very still on my back, listening to the hum of appliances and looking at the city lights visible outside his window. Tachibana seemed to be doing the same.

"Well?" he finally said.

It was all the cue I needed. I stretched my arm up and out, and he curled onto me, head in the crook of my shoulder. We both sighed softly at the same moment. Two absurd misfits, wrapped together in the safety of the early morning hours.

"You're not very well padded," he muttered, spoiling the moment.

"True," I said, then reached down and tipped his face up to mine. "Let me kiss you, Tachibana."

He nodded, eyes closing, and held his breath.

"With your eyes open," I admonished, voice soft in the quiet of near-dawn.

He opened his eyes, and I brought my lips to his.


	5. Chapter 5

Recipe for Ruin

Chapter 5

He was so silent, still. Not entirely passive, but the kiss was as chaste as two men with tongues in each other's mouths could be. I fought back my moan. I didn't want to scare him. I tasted him, tasted Tachibana. "Taste me, too," I wanted to say but did not. Let me be the one sweet you can taste without sickness. Just this once.

He broke the embrace before I would have. Hell, I might never have broken it. I kept my erection from touching him, I did not let the moan escape. I kissed him as carefully as I could, softly, fully, tenderly. I kept the wolf in me at bay and offered the lamb. And he accepted the gift and the appeal, as long as he could.

"That wasn't horrible," is what he said after.

"Baaaa," I said.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm glad it wasn't horrible."

He lay back on my arm, didn't demand I remove it, didn't wipe his mouth, didn't flee. Just lay there. As did I. Just breathing.

"You kiss like a girl."

I laughed. Softly at first, then more. What a ridiculous thing to say and only Tachibana would say it like that. As if it meant two grown men didn't just kiss. As if he hadn't just kissed me. Of his own will, without flinching or faking it. Tentative, but real. Soon, my laughter made him laugh, too, and it was good. Good to laugh, in that stupid guy way that I thought myself immune to. How could the notoriously gay Ono Yusuke need to laugh to relieve embarrassment or tension after finally effectively seducing the guy he'd wanted to kiss since middle school? But I did. We both did. Maybe most of all because it wasn't seduction and I'd exposed just as much of myself as he had. I wasn't the "devilish gay," just an oil slick kissing a mirror and hoping alchemy would take place.

When the laughter stopped, I had to have my two cents. "I can't comment on your kiss, Tachibana. Forgive me, but I can't. You held back too much."

"You're saying I'm a lousy kisser? After everything I've been through this week and how I exposed my vulnerability to you and told you…everything? You're saying I can't kiss?"

He turned and grabbed me then, kissed me breathless. More determination than passion, to be sure, but the distinction was subtle enough that neither my heart nor my dick caught on. I let myself moan, and feared I'd regret it, but it had no effect on this new, aggressive Tachibana. He held me down and kissed me as if his life depended on it. So much to prove, and I drank it in like wine.

And it didn't stop there. Heaven knows it should have. He should have wanted it to stop, found his bearings and gone back to the Tachibana who found me disgusting or at least unnecessary. He should have remembered his inability to get hard and his love of cleavage and his anxiety about even brushing up against men, let alone kissing them and reaching his hand down and down until he was jerking my cock and his together in one smooth motion like he'd been doing it for his whole adult life.

"Tachibana," I gasped, bringing my hand down to his, and I didn't even know why. I certainly didn't want to stop him, did I? I was hurtling toward climax by the unexpectedness of it, by the suddenness, the intensity, and the taboo-breaking wonder of it. But I didn't want it to stop. He took my mouth again and stroked faster, his hardness and mine, pressed together, our hips moving and mouths crushed together, and the world was spinning and maybe nirvana beckoned.

I was sweating and gasping for air as his kiss ruined me. Devastated: the only word for the moment he lifted up and looked into my eyes as my muscles locked, back arched hard, and I came. I cried out, spraying my seed all over our bellies, felt it hot and thick on my chest as Tachibana's eyes held mine as tight as his fist held my cock, knowing me as I'd never been known before, never fully knew I needed to be known. I shuddered and whimpered and he made this sound…this soothing, "hush, everything is ok baby" sound, and I blushed and gasped and panted and clutched at him as his hand released us both and wrapped around me. "Shhh," he said, "It's ok now…you're ok."

That brought me to myself a little, roused me from aftershocks to the reality of its strangeness. Ok? It's ok now? I reached my hand down to find he'd come, too. His cock was flaccid and though he didn't push my hand away, he didn't welcome my touch. But he kept holding me and I let him. My mind searched for what was going on here. What was happening without it being said, not directly.

Only after Tachibana's breathing slowed and I realized he had fallen asleep did the truth truly dawn. He'd done it again: the mirror. He'd taken care of me. His own climax made invisible by mine. His own desire safely quieted as mine took center stage. Oh, Tachibana…this wasn't your reclamation, this wasn't recognition of being loved and lovable. It was another projection.

I'd failed him. As perhaps I always would. Though he'd never say so. In the morning, he'd tell me nothing had happened. We weren't lovers. And that much would be true. But the rest? No. He'd go on being a reflecting glass, and all I could do--all any of us could do--was keep him from shattering.

I lay on my side, watching him sleep, for minutes or hours. I drifted off as the sun rose, whispering hopes for love that would find my Tachibana one day and hold him more tightly than my foolish arms ever could.


End file.
